Every Hour Has Its End.

Literature Is A Great Staff, But A Very Sorry Crutch.

Land Of My Sires! What Mortal Hand Can E'er Untie The Filial Band That Knits Me To Thy Rugged Strand!

Look At A Gown Of Gold, And You Will At Least Get A Sleeve Of It.

The Paths Of Virtue, Though Seldom Those Of Worldly Greatness, Are Always Those Of Pleasantness And Peace.

Now, It Is Well Known, That A Man May With More Impunity Be Guilty Of An Actual Breach Either Of Real Good Breeding Or Of Good Morals, Than Appear Ignorant Of The Most Minute Point Of Fashionable Etiquette.